Sifting the silt of a lifeless river with bare hands. Finding only the teeth of suicidal lovers. The shore foliage, filigreed with the shimmering reflection of lonely currents. I sit in the fading blood-orange sunlight, and am slowly desiccated by the breeze of regrets. A familiar and mangy hummingbird searches in perpetuity for lost companions. I empathize. The mocking laughter of a handful of ducks echoes across ripples. I leave and search for a place to bury my shame. There is no hole big enough for all of it.
11:37 p.m. - 2019-08-01
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Inward Etched - 2019-08-19
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